


Objections

by rollipoli



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Like no consent on John's part, M/M, Multi, No established relationship, Poor John, Sherlock Holmes is a Bit Not Good, Threesome - F/M/M, tied-up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-10 15:08:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17428289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rollipoli/pseuds/rollipoli
Summary: Sherlock has reached out to his favorite consulting dominatrix to assist with his dilemma regarding John. He definitely could have found a better way to go about this.This was very much inspired by makokitten's amazing fic, Scene (please visit them to read something amazing). My story could occur after those events, or on its own.





	1. Communication

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Scene](https://archiveofourown.org/works/311165) by [makokitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makokitten/pseuds/makokitten). 



“Obviously, I’m here for sex, John.”

Irene Adler sat facing him in Sherlock’s armchair. Sherlock, inexplicably silent in the proceedings, stood facing the window. John was hardly thrilled that Sherlock had selected the woman to help explore his latent sexuality, but he couldn’t pretend to be shocked. That they had John tied to a chair in the middle of the flat was a more pressing concern. 

“Right then. I really don’t need to be here for this.”

A wry smile stole over her face. “I don’t think that’s altogether true. Wouldn’t you agree, Sherlock? We’d both like you to stay. Otherwise we wouldn’t have bothered with the bindings.”

Sherlock simply maintained his maddening silence, so John (stupidly) continued giving him the benefit of the doubt. “Cheers for that, but I doubt this was a team decision.” 

Irene rose. “Noted, love. Now, you must let me finish. As I said, Sherlock and I have some business that we will be taking care of today, and I would like to clarify your role.” She walked toward him, “Clear communication is rather vital to keeping the stress out of these situations. That way we can all have a marvelous time.”

She was standing in front of him now, loosening her robe. John disagreed. 

Being forced to watch the two of them shag in his own living room sounded nothing short of hellish, actually; but he was certain Sherlock wouldn’t let it come to that. 

“Absolutely thrilled to learn you’re both exhibitionists,” John said lightly, “but I think you can find someone else to be your audience. Glad to be considered, and all that, but it’s not how I’d like to spend my afternoon.” This had to be an experiment (to test how irritated they could make him or some such). If they were serious about this, then just knowing he had been nominated to be their voyeur was more detail than John ever wanted. Either way, he hadn’t volunteered. 

Irene’s delight was unbridled. "But there is no need for you to be in the audience, handsome. A complete waste, honestly. No, I think we would both prefer you on center stage.” 

His breath hitched involuntarily as her robe slipped from her shoulders, but his eyes never left hers. “Your preferences, or activities, are none of my business, Ms. Adler. The tolling of the cheekbones can commence for as long as you two like, I just don’t want to be here for it.”

She knelt before him, smiling irreverently as she began to stroke his thigh and John gave her up as a lost cause. 

“Sherlock, enough. You two can have the flat for as long as you want, I don’t care. Untie me”

Irene chuckled softly as Sherlock cleared his throat and turned from the window, but he would not meet John’s eyes. Rather, Sherlock began removing his own suit jacket, which left John with the common feeling that he was too thick to discern why this sodding git had let things go so far. Sherlock couldn't possibly want what she was implying, and annoyingly, Irene’s antics were beginning to have the desired effect on John. 

With no sign of incoming intervention from Sherlock, John tried fruitlessly to knock Irene's hand away. "Stop it. Seriously, Sherlock, get her off me. I'm done contributing to your foreplay. Say something." 

Much to his displeasure, it was Irene who replied as she straddled John’s lap. “I’ve been given authority to speak on Sherlock’s behalf in this affair, darling. We had quite the long chat yesterday and agreed that this would be best. Sherlock wants me to touch you like this. He would like to watch me fuck you, as well, among other things.” 

John let out a short humorless laugh. Irene's manicured hands were now unbuttoning his shirt, and his efforts to buck her off were not working. “Right. Well if Sherlock feels that way, he’s welcome to say so himself. Get off me. Now.”

Instead she pressed her breasts against his exposed chest and whispered in his ear, “So far, what makes you think anything I’ve said is untrue, John? Sherlock isn’t contradicting me because he doesn’t want me to stop. And I don't think you do either, based on this.” She cupped his growing arousal through his trousers.

John felt himself harden further. “Sherlock isn’t doing anything because he is a prat running an experiment.”

“No, he’s just letting us show him what he likes.”

“You can’t really expect me to believe he’s aroused by this farce?”

Irene raised a sculpted brow. “I can’t?”

She leaned back to look at Sherlock, and John found himself coming up short as he followed her gaze.

Sherlock was standing in front of the hearth, flushed and clearly fully erect. 

So that was obviously a problem.


	2. Preparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to Sherlock's initiation of his plan.

It had been some months since Sherlock first touched himself to the thought of the Woman. And John. The three of them together. Several months of exploring his fantasies and his body. Allowing his desire for them to percolate. But in recent weeks he found he needed more. His mind’s eye took him as far as it could, it seemed, and perhaps impulsively, he decided to take the plunge. 

Consulting the Woman was essential. There was strong evidence she already knew what he wanted, (she once offered to give him John for Christmas) but he needed to confirm that she was still interested and would participate on his terms. 

“I would like your help. With John.”

“Finally decided you wanted a taste?” 

Sherlock gave her an inscrutable look. “Yes, I did.”

“And what does your good doctor think about this? Or are you still working on a strategy to ring out every straight impulse from his fine form?”

“Not every straight impulse. I would rather like to watch him with you, to begin things.” She raised an eyebrow and he went on. “You did once say you would like to see me beg. Twice. This endeavor would provide you with many opportunities to do that and more. And I am given to understand, as you have no doubt surmised yourself, that John is remarkably clever with his tongue, should his generous endowments not pique your interest.”

She looked pleased. “I hadn’t pinned John as a martymachliac. Nor had I realized he was so open to your interests. What a busy few months these must have been.”

Strictly speaking, John _wasn't_ aware that Sherlock’s sexual interests extended anywhere beyond the woman before him. But he knew Sherlock possessed some form of sexuality and explaining the specifics would be challenging. A demonstration would be perfectly effective. He had never known John to respond poorly to a beautiful woman, and so long as Sherlock refrained from directly participating, John’s physical response shouldn’t be inhibited. Which was more than enough to be getting on with for the time being.

“John does not know the full scope of my desires. But I have always found him to be amenable to my plans. Your presence, while very welcome, is sure to be something of a sticking point initially, as will the concept of a _ménage à trois._ He can be counted on to fuss before relenting.” 

“Initially? As in the first of many such sessions between the three of us?” 

He nodded. “So long as the arrangement amuses you.”

“I see.” 

He doubted that she fully saw but did not want to dampen her enthusiasm. Molly was his backup, but he knew that would be fraught. John may loathe the Woman, but he pitied Molly, which, quite aside from failing to stoke his ardor, would make him very cross with Sherlock. 

His own intense attraction to Irene and John notwithstanding, Sherlock was relying on the Woman’s sexual insight to guide this venture. The perfect interpreter, he had once thought of it. 

She set down her tea delicately. “I have conditions, naturally. And rules. For the content of these sessions and your behavior during them.”

“Please, I greatly value your creative contributions.”

“For our first session, you will not be allowed to speak for the duration. Only when I direct you, may you look at John’s face, touch John’s body, or touch yourself. If I give you any command, you will follow it. If you disobey these rules, or any order I give you, I will stop touching John and leave. If I do cross a line with John, you are to say my name once, and I will relent.”

The idea alone was making it hard for Sherlock to master his arousal. But he did need to clarify. “I will not be touching John during our first session. That would hinder his physiological response.” 

“Do you know this from experience?”

“No.” 

“Well if it is a concern, drugs could be useful. A vasodilator and an inhibition lowering agent would guarantee the best results.”

Sherlock considered, but no. John always got surly when he was secretly drugged. A direct approach would be better. Feel less violating, in the long run. 

“No, I’d prefer he keep a clear head. And am quite satisfied to observe your considerable skill bring about his undoing.” 

She smiled, “Who knew you could be such a flatterer, Sherlock. But if John is like to ‘fuss’ as you put it, will restraints be necessary?”

“That can be arranged. Do you have a preference of material?”

“Of course, but we can sort out the minutia of the first session in a moment.” She gave him a penetrating look. “In agreeing to this, I am trusting that you know what you are doing regarding John. And his tolerance for this arrangement.”

“Naturally.”

They discussed it for some time.


	3. Intention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John faces the aftermath of his encounter with the Woman.

Irene cooed sympathetically and stroked John’s hair. “I think you’ve underestimated his appetite, John. Not that I can blame you. He’s difficult to read” 

⋅⋅⋅

John couldn’t say how long it lasted. It seemed ages before she’d brought herself over the edge, riding him. He didn’t think he’d ever been so unhappy to feel a woman convulse around his cock. Today was a veritable bounty of firsts.

Sherlock had obediently circled them for some time, eyes raking every inch before being directed to sit. Now he was settled in his armchair, stroking himself ardently.

Still riding his cock, John felt her do that thing with her fingers again, and he knew it would be over soon.

“Sherlock keep your eyes on John’s face. I want you to watch him.”

Sherlock’s hungry noise drew John’s gaze without him thinking. Their eyes met, and John saw him shudder, gasp, and finish. He’d meant to give Sherlock some privacy in that moment. _Sex doesn’t alarm me. How would you know?_

John felt her fingers tug again as she sucked hard on his neck, increasing the pace of her bouncing.

John’s head fell back and closed his eyes as he let himself go.

The woman must have looked triumphant. 

⋅⋅⋅

As he came down, John kept his eyes closed. He focused on his breathing. His adrenaline was going to kick back in soon and he needed to think, now that his head was finally clear.

He felt her lift off his still-hard prick and heard her dress. John remained exposed and no one moved to cover him. The abrasive ropes inched back into the periphery of his senses. 

She addressed Sherlock, “When I close the door, you may speak.” As she walked past, she paused to kiss John, briefly. “Thanks for a lovely time, Dr. Watson. ‘til the next appointment, then.” And she was gone.

The flat was quiet. John continued to breathe. 

Eventually he could hear rustling (Sherlock cleaning himself he supposed). Sherlock still said nothing, though apparently permitted to. Minutes passed. Then, from the creak of a nearby floorboard, John knew Sherlock was standing over him.

“Tell me what she had.” John said quietly.

“John?”

“Tell me,” John said, eyes still closed, voice even, “that she had something. A threat, a bomb on some MP’s car. Another phone full of secrets. Something she would do if you didn’t allow this to happen. Tell me there is a reason you allowed this to happen.”

John heard Sherlock exhale. Maybe he’d been holding his breath.

“You know I am the reason this happened.” Sherlock paused, then softer, “You know that. You saw me.”

“I saw how it affected you.” John corrected. “I never saw why you didn’t stop her when I asked you to. Why you wouldn’t speak to me. Being threatened seemed like the most reasonable explanation.”

Sherlock paused. “She would have stopped if I spoke to you.” John did open his eyes at that. Searching Sherlock’s face for any sense whatsoever. He looked impeccable once again, and only the faintest flush would suggest anything untoward had just occurred.

“So, you could have put an end to it?”

“Yes, but I didn’t want to, as she already told you. I was not coerced. I asked her to come.”

John’s stomach twisted, and he dropped his head in disbelief. He saw the woman’s green robe pooled at his feet and his stomach fell another inch (he would have to get rid of that). He noticed the knife in Sherlock’s hand, surely to cut him free. His eyes finally landed back on the impossibly calm face above him.

“You asked for this?”

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Yes.” John waited for more. “I had a dilemma, and I elected to use Ms. Adler’s expertise to resolve it.”

Was that all? Silly John for getting upset. He nodded sarcastically. “Reasonable enough. You wanted to masturbate and needed some live entertainment.” 

“Not precisely.”

“Then explain this to me.” John’s adrenaline, reliably, was picking back up. “You’ve been authorized to speak again, so I suggest you do so.” 

“What further explanation do you require? I enlisted her assistance so that I might observe the pair of you. Certainly, you find her to be very attractive, so the hardship on you ought to be minimal." 

“Don't be daft.” Hot lead filled the hollow of John’s stomach at a slow, sickening, pace. “You can’t possibly think I would like this.”

“Since when do you dislike sex?”

“I’m supposed to have a say in who I have sex with! It never occurred to you that I might have objections to letting that woman touch me? Just so you could get off?”

“These standards are a new, based on your dating history and I can’t be expected to keep track of your fickle tastes. Blaming me for your arbitrary reactions to essentially the same activity you prioritize every other day is exhausting, John.”

“My telling you to get her off me could have been a clue, you sodding detective!”

Sherlock scowled, “You are being predictably unreasonable about this, John. But I shouldn’t have expected better.” The hot lead in John’s stomach burned white

But his violent need to punch something was stifled by the realization that he was still tied to the godforsaken chair. His eyes narrowed darkly. “Are you afraid to untie me?”

“Should I be?”

“Yes.”

“Then my precaution was sound.”

John didn’t mask his venom. “How long am I to stay here then? Do you like seeing me half-naked and covered in dried cum as much as you do with your girlfriend on my lap? Am I just on retainer ‘til you want your next orgasm?”

Sherlock had the audacity to bristle, “Obviously not.” 

“Then untie me” John spat. “At the moment I want to shower more than I want to hurt you.”

Sherlock hesitated a fraction of a second, then finally moved behind John to cut the ropes. 

The instant that he could move, John was on his feet and down the hall, without a single glance back. He locked the bathroom door and stripped, chucking everything he’d been wearing in the bin. In the shower, he scrubbed hard and kept the water hot. 

He made no attempt to sort his feelings. They were too volatile to cope with right then. 

He hung his head and rested both hands on the tile below the shower-head as the water continued to scald his flesh. He focused on immediate concerns only: He didn’t want to go back out there. He knew the hot water would soon run out. He was exhausted and wanted sleep. An image of barricading himself in Sherlock’s room gleamed for moment before he dispelled it. He turned off the water and dried himself slowly. He was so tired. Nothing for it then. He moved precisely and managed to get to the landing and up the stairs without seeing anything but the floor. Good. He didn’t need the empty chair and severed ropes to join the unwelcome images already in his head. Mercifully, he barely remembered falling asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading. This is my first, so any feedback or criticism would be absolutely cherished. 
> 
> Love,  
> rollipoli


End file.
